Progress
by Vestibulocochlear
Summary: Five short scenes, interconnected, in a not so usual day to day life. Slash. TresAbel. Rated for violence in later chapters.


**A/N: **I actually began to write this quite a while back, and am just now realizing that I still really like the writing that I managed to finish, for the most part. Now I'm pulling up the five chapters (I started on each of them, and remember the intended ideas of each, but they all need a little work) and completing it. Hope you enjoy reading, and comments and constructive criticism would be very welcome, as always. Thank you! 

* * *

The welcome sleep-haze wore away gradually as sun-streamers breaking in through the bedroom window pierced his darkness, dragging an unwilling out of the comforting arms of rest. His eyes opened wide at first, as he tried to dredge up a recollection of where he'd gone to bed last night and where he should be this morning. But the light was too strong already—he must have overslept more than a few hours—and eyelids clamped down again, together, tears springing up unbidden in the corners of his eyes.

A sudden yawn cracked his jaw as he turned onto his side, away from the intruding, jovial brightness of the day. He would be as happy, but only after he had managed to awaken the rest of himself from the pleasure of slumber. Only after he'd remembered any reason at all he had for being happy on this day, another day in a long, long line of days.

And then a voice, startlingly close, loud, and unfailingly familiar, came crashing through to his dream-addled mind and his eyes went wide again as he shrank back across the bed.

"Answer. What is your status, Abel Nightroad?"

"Awake, awake. Please, not so loud." He relaxed somewhat, still sharp on the knife's edge of fight-or-flight from the surprise but managing slowly to overcome any sudden urge. Reaching out with one slim, ghostly pale hand, he pushed the brown-eyed, redheaded android back out of his very personal space. "…Or so close."

Tres backed obediently away, straightening with arms suspended limp at his sides. And he watched from behind impassive, electric pupils as Abel kicked the blankets down and threw his long legs out of bed. Abel shrugged a little of the tension out of his shoulders; more resultant from the scare his some-time partner in crime had instilled in him than where he had slept, at least. But that was Tres, regardless—when he wasn't acting like an alarm clock, he was usually just acting alarming. His very own built-in inhibitor kept him from strongly experiencing emotions, and the lack of emotions kept him from comprehension. He made a clumsy, awkward conversationalist as well, but somehow he still always managed to make good company.

Well, almost always. Unnecessarily aware of the fact that the other inhuman occupant of the room was still staring intently at him, Abel tugged the hem of his powder blue nightgown lower to cover his legs. Even though he didn't believe Tres cared much, either way. The sight of a white thigh wouldn't shock him, even less that of any other portion of Abel. He had discovered, over the course of many an inconvenient injury, that Tres really didn't have a shred of decency, nor of modesty, programmed into him. It was better that way, though, if oft embarrassing. They wouldn't ever budge on matters of first aid if the _both_ of them were always skirting around the subject sheepishly.

Surprisingly, fortunately warm, carpeted floor met his feet as Abel finally sidled out of the tossed and turned mess of blankets on the dorm bed. It had been time unimaginable since he'd last woken to a comfortably temperate room. Winter had lasted an age, and he was as prepared as the brilliantly beaming sun behind those windows for a little bit of heat to return to the days.

Plodding carelessly across the narrow width of the room, past Tres and toward the chest of drawers, he pulled up the plain suitcase containing the bare minimum of his personal things and cracked it open. The usual sight of crumpled and copious black cloth greeted him loyally, and Abel dressed with a casual speed, all the while speaking back over a shoulder to his closest compatriot.

"What were you doing in the room, anyway, Tres?" He turned thoughtful, pulling an arm through a sleeve as he asked that all-important question, "Has something come up?"

"Negative," came his response, monotone but reliably honest.

"Well, then… What was it?"

"You were vocalizing in your sleep."

"I was _what_?" Twisting around and, in the process, stumbling over the toe of his own left boot, Abel looked something between shocked and appalled, and most horribly embarrassed. He had had vivid dreams (when he wasn't having vivid nightmares) for the majority of his sleeping life, and it wasn't unfathomable that he _might've_ begun sleep-talking to himself, or anyone else, at some point in the past, near or distant. Most likely the former, considering Tres hadn't ever spoken up about it before. "What… Ahh, well what did I say?"

"It was nonsense."

"…Well, I hardly think that's fair," Abel began defensively, ignoring his cohort again to finish the clasps and snaps on his robes, throwing on his overcoat.

"Negative," Tres responded (and did Abel hear a tint of exasperation in that emotionless voice?), "You did not form coherent words in any known language."

"Oh," the older priest blurted lamely, realizing his assumption had been a strange mistake. Inwardly, he was immensely grateful, somewhat relieved. There was no easy way to admit to himself that living on a frail prayer that no one would ever know his past could have come so close to failing him. He didn't see Tres as the type to go telling the world, of course, but he worried now that other members of the AX might someday hear him professing secrets in his sleep. And he cared too deeply for the illusion they had built around him, of assumptions and outright lies, to let it all slip away and hurt his friends.

Frowning as he tied up his hair, Abel forced himself to relax again, to let go of that fright. He summoned up his brightest smile and turned back to Tres, cleaning the large, round lenses of his glasses with the end of a sleeve. "So, ah, what should we do, today? The weather looks lovely."

Tres opened his mouth to undoubtedly begin the toneless recital of the day's agenda, but that was as far as he got before Abel held up a hand insistently.

"Uh, nevermind," he mumbled, laughing and pushing his glasses on. "I think I have a few ideas. I'd really rather enjoy the day off, if Caterina doesn't need me for anything just yet?"

"I have received no communications requesting your presence."

"And I can finish writing up those reports tomorrow."

"Negative. Today is the deadline for your write-up of the previous mission."

"…Eh, in that case, I'll finish writing them later tonight! There's plenty of time, isn't there?"

"Negative—"

"Oh, all right!" The cheerful curve of Abel's mouth drooped into a petulant pout, and he sighed. "I'll do them now. Er, after breakfast, at least… Shall we?"

"Affirmative."


End file.
